


Shattered Wings

by leoinix



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom
Genre: Alexis | Quackity Needs a Hug, Alexis | Quackity-centric, Angst, Anyways, Body Horror, Gen, Gore, Heavy Angst, Medical Inaccuracies, Multiple Pronouns for Eret (Video Blogging RPF), Nonbinary Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Short Chapters, The rating will be updated to mature if I feel it gets to that point, Trans Floris | Fundy, Villain Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), What are these character tags, Winged Alexis | Quackity, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), because I don't want to have to write them all out, because they use all pronouns, btw broader warning for medical stuff/gore/body horror so stay safe, btw i know he has fiances but i refuse to write romance so it's platonic, content warnings in notes, forgot that one oops, i found that tag and it's correct, i think i'm funny what about it, i'm writing about the characters not the people, if they're even in the story, no beta we die like quackity, the character tag says rpf but i very much do not mean this about the actual person, why is that his character tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leoinix/pseuds/leoinix
Summary: Quackity has wings and tries to keep them hidden.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 223





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warnings: unhealthy binding, injury, character death (temporary)
> 
> Originally written as a oneshot but I decided to continue it. I will be uploading the chapters I've already written as quickly as possible, as I wrote quite a few before I got this account.

Useless. The word echoed in his head as he wrapped the strips of fabric around his chest and… well, they barely qualified as wings. He didn’t remember when he had stopped simply hiding them under a jacket and started binding them to his back. Maybe when he had come to power. They hadn’t really fit in his suit.

Of course he had ended up with these useless things, too small to fly and too big to hide under a suit jacket. It was fitting. They were as useless as he was. 

His ribs ached like they did every day. He ignored them. He was used to it. It was better this way, anyways. He was already enough of a laughingstock, no one needed to see the stupid little bundles of feathers that barely passed as wings. 

Well. No one else needed to know. The day Manburg was blown up, he had been falling, and on an instinct he hadn’t known he had anymore, his wings flew out. They hadn’t even done anything, he landed in water anyways, but before he had a chance to shove them back under his shirt, he had seen a figure turn and run. He still didn’t know who it was, and no one had come to talk to him. Fortunately, they hadn’t told anyone else either.

Done with the bandages, he shrugged on a shirt and jacket and headed into L’Manburg. He had an idea to propose to the president.

\-------

He was beginning to regret getting into this fight. Of course, Technoblade had to be stopped, but at what cost? His own life? Well, he figured it might be worth it. It wasn’t like anyone would miss him anyways. He was useless. 

His ribs ached, worse than usual, probably because of the battle. At some point, he wasn’t sure when, he had lost his sword, meaning all he could do was dodge the swings of Technoblade’s pickaxe. 

Techno landed a hit, square on his chest. He felt several things snap, including the bandages that held his wings back. With nothing stopping them, they rushed out. They were dirty and crumpled from months of no attention, and one of them might have been partially broken, but they were there. And Techno saw them. And he knew. 

Quackity was paralzyed, partially from shame and partially from the sharp pain in his ribs. The pig took the advantage, swinging the pickaxe down for the final time. And Quackity saw black.

\-------

He woke up in his bed, gasping for breath. Apparently he had a life left. The sharp pain in his ribs hadn’t gone away, though, and he looked down, yanking up his shirt as he did so to get a good look at it.

There were cracks spread over his chest. They looked like they might be the color of his armour, but he couldn’t tell through the blood. Oh. And it was bleeding. He stared at it in horror before walking over to the bathroom to clean it off and assess the situation. He’d had wounds this bad before. 

After all, he was useless.


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: blood, injury, unhealthy binding, general bad medical decisions, not quite a panic attack but a mild version of that?

He cleaned the blood off his chest, wincing whenever the cloth touched his sore chest, trying to figure out what had happened to him. Usually, deaths left you uninjured (Well. If you came back.), and he’d never heard of anything like this happening. Honestly, he wasn’t surprised. Leave it up to him to fuck up something like dying. 

He found the worst of the cuts and cleaned them, grabbing some of his bandages. He paused, considering keeping his wings out, but decided against it. He didn’t know what he would do if someone found out. His chest felt like it was screaming in pain as he did so, but that was to be expected. 

He could barely walk. It had taken most of his energy to get to the bathroom, and he almost collapsed several times trying to get out. Eventually he gave up and fashioned himself a rough cane out of a few sticks. He got up and quickly threw on a shirt and jacket, just in time, as he heard a knock at his door. 

“Quackity?” It was the president, sounding worried. Oh yeah. He had died. 

“I’m fine! I’ll get the door.” He opens it to a wide-eyed Tubbo, who rushes and hugs him. He nearly screams in pain, but manages to keep silent. He must have flinched, though, since Tubbo quickly pulled back. 

“Quackity, what happened to you? Are you okay?” 

“Oh, yeah I’m fine. Just a little tired.” He tried to hide the cane behind his back, but Tubbo clearly noticed. 

“Well, would you mind coming back to headquarters and telling us what happened?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure. One sec. I. Uh. I have to do something.” He closed the door in Tubbo’s face before he could get a word in, and resisted sinking to the ground. It’d probably just hurt more. 

He wondered if he could get away with walking all the way to headquarters without the cane, finally deciding to bring a spare sword and use it as a substitute. At least it might be less suspicious. He also wrapped some extra cloth around his chest in case he bled through the bandages. 

When he got back outside, Tubbo was waiting. “Took you a while. Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice was full of concern.

“Nah, I’m great.” Miraculously, the president didn’t call him out on the blatant lie, turning and beginning to walk towards headquarters. Quackity followed as quickly as he could with the sword, which he was beginning to realize made a terrible cane. 

However, he managed to follow Tubbo at a reasonable pace, hoping that the kid wouldn’t be suspicious. He didn’t seem to have figured anything out, but then again what did Quackity know, he was just a useless pawn, just supposed to stand there and do nothing, just useless, couldn’t tell when people were manipulating him, useless, useless, useless. 

He realized he had stopped walking. He faintly heard Tubbo calling for him in the distance, and his thoughts were still muddy but he hurried over to him. Couldn’t let him know anything was going on. 

“I’m getting worried, man. Dying’s tough, and dying to Technoblade…” His hand drifted to his eye. The one he was blind in. The one he was blind in because of Quackity. He resisted the urge to touch the scar on his own face. “Well, all I’m saying is, if you ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here.” 

“I appreciate it, but I’m okay, honestly. I’m always okay, you know that.” He laughs. It sounds fake, even to himself. Tubbo looks like he doesn’t believe him, but he continues walking without comment.

\-------

When they got to headquarters, Fundy and Ranboo were already there waiting. Ranboo looked uncomfortable as usual, and Quackity felt a twinge of guilt for putting him in this situation. Then again, what was he supposed to have done? Techno and Dream were too much of a threat. They needed every soldier they had. 

But, looking at the clearly scared hybrid in front of him, he wasn’t sure that was true. 

His thoughts were interrupted by Fundy, suspicious as usual.

“What happened to you?” Well, no point in hiding it. He was pretty sure they already knew, anyways.

“I died. Techno killed me.” Fundy and Ranboo looked upset, but unsurprised.

“Yeah, we know. What do you want us to do about it? We still don’t know where he’s hiding out. That stupid bird-” (Quackity tried not to recoil) “won’t tell us anything, and we don’t have enough people for a search party.” Quackity turned to go.

“Don’t worry about the prisoner. I’ll handle him.” He began to walk away, but Fundy spoke up again.

“Are you okay?” He sounded… concerned. Huh.

“I’m doing great. See?” He stretched his arms over his head. His wings strained against the bandages, and then- SNAP. He felt a sharp burst of pain in his right wing. Oops.


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: blood/injury, fire, burn injury, broken bone
> 
> This is an edited version of the original

“What… was that?” Ranboo spoke up for the first time.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Quackity turned and ran as fast as he could, which unfortunately, due to his injuries wasn’t very fast. In fact, he collapsed just as he got out of sight of the others, nearly screaming in pain. He could feel the blood dripping down his chest. Not only had he broken his wing, he seemed to have opened the cuts on his chest even more.

Whatever. He could deal with that later. He had a prisoner to interrogate. 

He limped to Phil’s house, trying to regain his composure as he went. He had no idea what he was going to do when he got there or how he was supposed to be threatening in his state, but he didn’t know what else to do. He needed to talk to Phil, figure out what was happening, what they were planning.

He got to the house, leaning on the door as he entered, trying and failing to make himself look intimidating and not extremely injured. Phil looked up as he entered, seeming surprised by his state.

“Why are you here? What happened to you?” 

“Don’t you know, old man? Your friend” He spat the word out. “killed me. Did you put him up to it, huh?” His chest hurt more and more with each word. He kept going. “Did you tell him I would be an easy target? A quick kill?” Phil cut him off.

“Whoa. I didn’t tell him any of that. Calm down. Or get out. Or both. Frankly I don’t care, I’d just prefer you stop screaming at me.” Quackity stared at him. He walked up to him, ignoring the pain, and shoved him.

Right next to the open fireplace.

Quackity only saw his coat catch fire before he turned and ran.

He could hear screams from inside the house, and he almost went to help, but he stopped. Phil would be fine. He’d probably survive, and anyways he hadn’t died yet. He had all 3 lives left.

The pain in his ribs finally became too much for him, and he collapsed onto the grass, clutching his chest as Phil’s house burned.

A figure ran out of the house and jumped into the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original had main character death, I may upload the unedited version as a separate oneshot


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Maybe light gore/body horror, fire mention  
> Very short chapter

In the end, Phil lived. However, the house was fully burnt down by the time anyone got there, and he was lying in the lake next to it, barely breathing and badly burnt all down his right side, and his wing… well, ever since the explosion they had been useless for flight, but it was a mangled, burnt, bloody mess, not even fit to help him stay warm.

Ranboo found him first, heading home and being rather startled to see the charred remnants of the home and the half-dead man next to them. He panicked and called for Tubbo and Fundy, hoping they knew what to do. He wasn’t sure why Quackity had done this, but he knew it meant he had been right not to trust him.

Something in Tubbo took over upon seeing the injured man, ordering Fundy and Ranboo to make a stretcher and carry him to the infirmary, once there demanding he be taken care of, before collapsing into a chair himself. By then he looked as if he could start crying at any second, but up until then he had appeared oddly calm.

There were cries of anger and anguish, and the cabinet marched to Quackity’s house to demand answers. There was shouting and an effort to break the door down, and eventually they gave up, figuring he must have run.

He hadn’t.

He simply couldn’t hear the screams.


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: blood, wounds, lots of wounds, probably body horror, possibly implied self harm, some shitty mental state, I’m not super sure what though, maybe an extremely severe panic attack

He wasn’t sure how he had made it back to his house. He could feel Techno’s pickaxe stabbing through his ribs over and over and over and over and over again and finally he fell into the front hall, barely managing to drag the door closed behind him. 

He crawled to the bathroom to check on his wounds, but froze when he saw his reflection.

Horns.

No.

He- he couldn’t be like him.

He couldn’t.

He was.

He didn’t pass out, no. That would have been too peaceful. He lost his already tenuous balance, crashing to the floor again. He could hear his voice echoing in his head as blood pooled around his torso, soaking his shirt.

He didn’t notice.

The fracture in his rib he had never noticed widened, sending splitting pain up his side.

He didn’t notice. 

The cracks in his chest widened and started bleeding on their own, not red blood like the rest, but a purple-black ooze.

He didn’t notice.

His hands grabbed uselessly at his head, trying to rip off horns that only he saw. They were at his back, trying to pull out bound feathers to remember the cold feeling. They were at his mouth, trying to expel the taste of another’s blood.

There were screams at the door.

He didn’t notice.


	6. 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: blood, suicidal ideation, shitty binding, broken bones, general injury, axes  
> Almost done with the stuff I've already written

Eventually, Quackity woke up. His jacket and shirt were practically dyed red with blood, and he wasn’t sure how he hadn’t died. 

It was a shame, honestly.

He replaced the bandages on his chest with clean ones, binding his wings back without bothering to set the broken one.

He collapsed again after changing into non-bloodstained clothes, but he managed to pick himself back up again and look out the window. At the plume of smoke still rising from the collapsed house. And he remembered what he had done. 

He began to panic, realizing that the rest of the army must have seen it. They were reasonable people, they’d be trying to help Phil out. They’d be after him. He had to get away.

He grabbed a bag, shoving some supplies in it before running out the back door. Well, trying to. He was so weak it was really speedwalking at best. No matter, he made it out, not seeing anyone around and beginning to walk in a random direction.

He walked for a long time, falling more than he’d ever care to admit, before he realized it was getting cold. He recognized Technoblade’s house and fell into another panic. He couldn’t be caught here, he’s just be killed again. He stumbled away from the house, not aware enough to realize he was leaving a trail of blood.

He walked for even more time before he found a field with a tent, some paintings and a broken portal. It looked like no one had been there for a while, and, well, he needed a place to sleep that night.

He stumbled to the tent, barely taking the time to drop his bag on the ground before passing out in the sleeping bag.

He woke to a shimmering netherite axe in his face, and a familiar voice.

“Good, you’ve woken up. Now, tell me. Why are you here?”


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Transphobia, references to improper binding, gore/body horror, possibility of death/death mention  
> POV switch!

Fundy was suspicious.

To be fair, he had been suspicious for a long time, ever since Quackity had first come to power and he had noticed it.

He used to always wear a baggy jacket, and Fundy hadn’t thought much of it. Most people just chose an outfit and stick to it, anyways. But as soon as he had to wear the suits everyone else did, he acted different. Like he always found it hard to breathe. He walked stiffly and tried to hide his wince at physical activity. He seemed more injured and nervous than practically anyone else after the war, an impressive feat considering the events. 

Fundy didn’t know what it meant. At least, he didn’t think he knew. It seemed familiar, too familiar, but there was no way it was the same. If it had been the same, it wouldn’t have gone on for this long. 

Or would it? Schlatt was cruel, he had seen it himself.

“I’m something you’re not. I’m a man.”

He recoiled at the memory.

Had Schlatt…? Well. It didn’t matter now. He could still smell the ashes on the air, after all. 

Quackity had fled the country, and if he was going to be honest, after his actions it was a smart move. Of course, it didn’t mean he would escape, it just meant they didn’t know where to look for him. The president had sent an emissary to El Rapids in case he had fled there, but Fundy doubted it. That would be too easy. 

His grandfather still hadn’t woken up, his injuries extensive. Half of his body was badly burned, and one of his already destroyed wings was nearly gone, almost completely bone and some pieces of flesh barely holding it together. No one was optimistic about his chance of survival.

Fundy had taken to sitting by his grandfather’s bed in the infirmary, waiting. He wasn’t sure what for, as he knew he wasn’t going to wake up, at least not any time soon, and the doctors only tolerated his presence due to his position in the cabinet.

They weren’t open about their dislike about him, but he could see it fairly clearly, in their whispers, in their stares, in everything about them. Then again, that might just mean Phil is dying and they don’t have the heart to tell him.

But he can’t do anything about either, so for now he sits, waits, and thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's everything I had pre-written, sorry if I was spamming the tags, that was not my intent.  
> I have no consistent writing schedule, so this will be updated when I have something written. I do have Part 8 partially written though.


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: more injury, more unhealthy binding, this is definitely manipulation so yeah

“Dream?” 

“Who else?”

“Why are you here?”

“That’s my business. Now. Answer my question.”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Why did you need to know?”

“Ok. Look. I don’t want to bother you, okay? I’ll be out of your hair-”

Quackity moved to leave, but a sudden burst of pain from his already aching chest stopped him. He crumpled, bringing a hand to the injured site. It came away in smears of black and purple and red, some substance he was in too much pain to identify.

He collapsed back onto the sleeping bag.

\-------

He woke up to a cleanly bandaged chest, wings still bound. He didn’t recognize his surroundings, a large room made of some dark stone. He slowly stood up, though not painlessly, and turned to see a shrine of sorts, 2 golden platforms, empty but appearing to have been made to hold something, separated by an unlit Nether portal frame. Next to him was what appeared to be an elevator shaft, and on the left side of the room he could see a hallway stretching off into darkness. 

He walked up to one of the pedestals, peering at it. As far as he could tell, it was solid gold, but it was definitely missing something. He could find out what later, after he had escaped wherever this was. 

He heard a sound behind him and turned to see the elevator descending, carrying Dream with it. Of course it was Dream, who else had he expected? Well, this wouldn’t be easy, but he had to try to get out. What else could he do?

“So, you’ve woken up.”

“Yeah, I have. Why am I here? What is this place?”

“This is my stronghold.”

“Why would you bring me here?”

“I heard that L’Manburg is looking for you. I hold no particular love for those dissidents” He spat the word out like it tasted foul, “and anyways, you needed someone to help you with those injuries, and I didn’t exactly see volunteers lining up.” Quackity’s eyes widen, and he brings his hand up to touch his chest.

“You- you saw?” Dream nodded calmly, sending a wave of terror crashing through Quackity’s mind.

“Honestly, little bird, if you think I care, you can think again.” Quackity hesitated before asking his next question.

“You still bound them though. Why would you do that if you didn’t care?” Dream laughed, the sound eerie.

“You clearly care, and who am I to disrespect your wishes?”

“...Okay.”

“Well, now that that’s cleared up, do you want to look around? I don’t mind.” Quackity was still wary, but figured he might do well to accept the help. Dream was powerful, after all.

“Okay.”

\-------

The hallway turned out to be full of display cases, labeled but mostly empty, and a few pens at the end, one containing a blue sheep labeled _Friend_ and another with a cow named Henry who should by all rights be dead. 

Dream had asked Quackity to stay in the stronghold, saying he’d be safe there and that he’d come visit more to help with his injuries. Quackity hadn’t really wanted to agree, but Dream had sounded almost apologetic, and besides, it really was convenient to have one of the most powerful people in the world helping him. 

So he said yes, and Dream had piled some wool in a corner for him to sleep on, saying he’d be back with a proper bed tomorrow. For the first time in some time, Quackity remembered to take the binding off his wings before falling into what was admittedly quite a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. Also I will not update this quickly usually, I just already had this one mostly written.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: blood, injury, gore, medical procedures, specifically stitches, manipulation, yelling, anger, some fire, non-sexual partial nudity (he has to be shirtless for the chest wound to be taken care of, don't make it weird)
> 
> Hi, I'm back.

He woke up the next day with more blood seeping through the bandages and coating his chest. He found some bandages that Dream had left for him, hesitating but wrapping up his wings too. The broken bone strained but he ignored it like usual.

He walked around the stronghold, checking for anything hidden, including potential escape routes. He’d have to see about getting a flint and steel in case he ever needed to use the portal, but there was no reason Dream had to know about that.

Speaking of the man, the elevator began to descend again and Quackity jumped away from where he was examining the portal frame. Dream stormed into the room, throwing something across the room. Quackity moved to hide behind one of the golden pedestals, just in case. Something about the man’s rage was too familiar to him, a stinging reminder of something he’d much rather forget.

It sounded like Dream was trying to scream, or yell, or _something_ , but no actual words were being formed, just unintelligible strings of syllables. Quackity was rooted in place behind the pedestal, paralyzed in fear. He wasn’t used to this side of Dream, whose rage was silent, calm and deadly. Though he supposed this kind was deadly as well.

Dream had gone silent, and at some point Quackity must have made a sound, because the green-clad figure started, scanning the room. Quackity figured there was no point in hiding any more, he’d just be punished for trying to hide. He stepped out from behind the safety of the pedestal.

Dream stared at him.

“You’re still here?” He was noticeably calmer, but still lacked his usual chilling steadiness.

“Yeah. I- I didn’t know where else to go.” Quackity spoke hesitantly, still scared Dream would snap again. However, he seemed to soften somewhat, (Of course, it was impossible to tell for sure under the mask, but his stance loosened and his shoulders relaxed) and he seemed almost sympathetic. Almost friendly.

"It's okay. Thank you for staying." Quackity smiles shakily and Dream nods. "Now, I said I'd get you a proper bed, didn't I?"

"Yeah, if it's not too much trouble."

\-------

They had nearly finished setting up a rudimentary bedroom in the corner when the mounting pain in Quackity's chest became too much and he fell, grabbing on to the edge of the bed in a somewhat futile effort to catch himself. Blood had started to leak through the bandages again, but he tried to hide it. Dream didn't need to see.

Dream saw.

"Are you okay? Are your wounds hurting?" He rushed to Quackity's side, almost sounding concerned.

"I'm fine." He was distinctly not fine.

"You're not fine. Technoblade fucked you up, so bad that you're still hurting. I've seen this before, and it doesn't end well. You're lucky you're here with me, I know how to save you." As he talked, he lay Quackity down and carefully peeled the bandages off the still-bleeding wound, calmly cleaning it like he did this every day. "This is going to hurt, okay?" Quackity could only faintly nod in response. Dream produced a small needle and some thread from a pocket somewhere. He struck a fire with some flint and steel, and held it up to the needle, sterilizing it. He threaded it and began to stitch up the many cuts crossing Quackity's chest.

At some point, Quackity passed out from the pain, and woke up to a fully stitched up and bandaged chest, and the break in his wing set. Dream was nowhere to be seen. He tried to stand up and leave the bed, but something, be it exhaustion, pain or some other force, stopped him. He lay there for quite a while, contemplating the events of the past few days, before sleep claimed him once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not.
> 
> Also I guess if you want to interact with me I'm @leoinix on Twitter and Tumblr.


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: dysphoria, unsafe binding, transphobia (referenced), character referenced to be near death, memory issues, anxiety, grief
> 
> Another L'manburg chapter, I swear I'll write more about Quackity I just really like Ranboo okay?

Ranboo lay on the bed in his cramped home filled with cluttered chests he’d never seen the point of cleaning up and anxious pets he’d probably forgotten to feed. His book had said to comfort Tubbo and Fundy, that they were his friends. His book had said that Quackity was his friend. His book said that Techno was his friend. His book said a lot of things. 

He followed the book’s instructions, knowing that it was right. It had to be. He had to be. He had visited Techno after the accident - was it an accident? - or rather, Techno had barged into the city, having apparently heard the news somehow, and it was fortunate that Ranboo had been the only one to see him.

He had brought the distressed man to his friend’s side, making sure he had an extra potion to avoid being seen by Fundy, who never left Phil’s side any more. Ranboo didn’t know what to think about what he had done. Fundy was his friend, but so was Techno, and why did this all have to be so confusing? Maybe Fundy would listen to him, he didn’t seem to care that Phil was technically still under house arrest when everything happened.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to test that theory. He didn’t need to get another of his friends hurt. He turned over, thinking.

What was he thinking about?

He hated these holes in his memory, he used to panic every time he found one, but he was almost used to them at this point. They were inconvenient, sure, but he couldn’t really think of any way to make them go away, so at some point he had decided to preserve what little mental resistance he had left and not spend all his time agonizing over them. 

He turned onto his side. Everything felt wrong, but it was just another one of those things he had to deal with. So what if something about him was off, was incorrect, what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t exactly fix it when he didn’t even know what it was. Eventually, he fell into a fitful sleep.

\-------

The next day, Fundy called a meeting, one of the first times he had left Phil’s side since what happened. He was disheveled and he didn’t even seem to have the energy left to be anything but angry and tired. The doctors had been whispering lately, about how the man in the hospital bed was likely to never wake up. 

At some point, Fundy had given up on wiping the tears away, and his cheeks glistened with the saltwater. Tubbo looked at him sympathetically, and went to hug him, but Fundy shied away, shaking his head slightly. Tubbo backed away, looking scared for him, but resolved to respect his wishes.

Fundy stood at the head of the table, right where Quackity used to stand. 

“So. We need to find Quackity, and that means we need all the information we can get about him. Tubbo, have El Rapids given you anything?” Tubbo still seemed concerned by Fundy’s behavior, but he responded anyway.

“No, but we’ll keep asking. I doubt we’ll get much out of them though, they’re fairly loyal to him.”

“Okay. Ranboo? Does your book say anything?” Ranboo started at being mentioned, flipping through the book before shaking his head. Nothing that seemed relevant.

“Well then. Time for my piece. You know how I’m trans?” Ranboo tilted his head, confused. He didn’t even know what the word meant, let alone that Fundy was whatever it was.

“No, what’s that?”

“Well then. I was born looking like a girl, but I’m a guy, so we made a potion to help me change the way I looked so that I could feel more like myself.” Huh. Ranboo hadn’t even known that was possible. “Well, the potion took a while to prepare, and before it was ready I decided to… well, put simply, bind my chest with bandages to make it feel more normal. It hurt like hell, to be honest, and there had to have been a better way to have done it, but whatever. It worked. The thing was, I recognized some of the things I did before I realized I was a guy in Quackity’s actions, but there’s no way it’s the same thing.” 

Tubbo interrupted.

“For one thing, Schlatt would have known, and we all know how he felt about you.” Ranboo didn’t know, but he couldn’t just ask, now could he?

“Exactly. So what is it? He used to wear that jacket all the time, but as soon as he had to wear a suit it looked like it was hard for him to breathe, and he seemed to start having other chest pain. What could have caused that? What could have caused that and wouldn’t have prompted a response from Schlatt?”

Tubbo and Fundy debate possible scenarios for the rest of the meeting, none seeming particularly plausible, but what else did they have? Ranboo sat there, thinking. Eventually he pulled out his book and began to write.

_Trans - born looking like a girl but is not? Ask Fundy for a better explanation later. Also ask how he knew he wasn’t a girl._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyways that potion thing is half magic HRT half trans wish fulfillment because dysphoria sucks man.
> 
> Also if you have an issue with how Ranboo's memory issues are portrayed please let me know.


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: anger/yelling, body horror, blood, maybe animal abuse? just in case, hunting, sleep deprivation

True to his word, Dream visited every day, checking on Quackity’s injuries and occasionally updating him on things that were going on outside the stronghold. At some point, Quackity had managed to grab a flint and steel from his pocket, in case he needed a quick escape, but he hadn’t used it yet. It’s not like there was anywhere else he could go, and at least here he could get medical attention without anyone questioning his wings.

Speaking of his wings, he had started to let them out more, or at least stay non-binded. The only person who could find him was Dream, who didn’t care, and it was more comfortable to leave the binding off, especially with the still-healing wounds. 

One day, Dream descended down the elevator shaft carrying something new. A small bundle of fur. A cat. She became Quackity’s only friend, keeping him company and snuggling with him when everything became too much and he started to think about L’manburg. About home.

And then Dream came back to the stronghold fuming again, but this time, Quackity had nowhere to hide. He had been sitting on the bed, petting the cat, who he had named at least 5 times at this point, none of the names having particularly stuck. He started to greet Dream as the elevator descended, but the words died in his throat when he saw the man.

Everything about him screamed anger, screamed _fuck around and find out_. His fist was wet with blood and a little was smeared on his mask, which he took off and threw before staring Quackity down, daring him to speak.

The legends Quackity had heard in shadowy back alleys he hid in back in the time of Manburg, when everything would become too overwhelming and he had to get out, whispered that there must be a reason Dream never took off his mask. In a way, they were completely right. 

A gash ran down his face, cracks etched deep into his skin. They glistened a dark purple, the same color as those still gracing Quackity’s chest. One one side, they framed his eye, though at the edge they appeared to be bleeding into it, the side of his eye the same dark purple. On the other, the cracks cut over his nose and fell towards his mouth, pulling half of it into a permanent smile. 

“What, do you have something to say? Spit it out.” Dream nearly snarled, the words filled with malice. 

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.” He started to slowly back away from Dream.

“You know damn well that’s a lie. Say it.” Dream storms towards him, and grabs at him. Quackity moves on pure instinct, ignoring the still-there pain in his chest to bolt away. Dream grabs the cat instead, holding her high. “You better not fucking leave me, you know that, right? You know I’m the only thing keeping you alive? They’ll kill you if they find you, you know that.”

“And you won’t?” Dream smiled.

“Do you really want to find out?” Mutely, Quackity shook his head. He knew better than to push it. “Good.” Dream set the cat down, and she ran away, hiding in Henry’s pen. “That wasn’t so hard, now was it?”

“No.”

“Well then. I think I’ll be leaving. Have a nice day.” His tone suggested he’d much rather Quackity fall off a bridge than have a nice day, but he did turn to leave. As soon as the elevator was up and Dream was gone, Quackity fished the flint and steel out of his pocket, made a small bag out of a pillowcase, and stuffed the cat and some blankets and bandages in there, to keep her comfortable and to use later. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any tools or weapons, but he couldn’t see a way to find any and he couldn’t stay in the stronghold any longer.

He lit the portal with shaky hands and stepped through. The Nether was sweltering as usual, and he only barely remembered to break the portal behind him before he nearly fell over from the heat and the exhaustion. He managed to keep his balance and started walking, picking a direction that didn’t look familiar, not caring if he had to stay in the Nether as long as he didn’t run across anyone else.

Eventually he had to stop and rest. He couldn’t sleep, but he could try to preserve his strength. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to all-nighters, he just wasn’t usually in these conditions. 

After a while, he had to get up and keep moving. He had started to get hungry, and he figured the cat was too. He’d have to find some piglins to kill, or something. He didn’t have a sword, but he spotted a warped tree, quickly crafting some shoddy wooden tools. They’d have to make do, at least until he could get some gold.

He may have not been able to hold his own against Technoblade, but he could hold his own against a few lesser piglins. He held what meat he could scavenge over the lava, cooking it as well as he could before eating some and offering the rest to the cat. She seemed unimpressed, but hungry enough to accept it. 

He kept living like this for a few days, before he raided a bastion and scavenged enough obsidian to form another portal, as well as some iron tools. He lit the portal in a cave, stepping back through to the overworld. A spruce forest, nowhere he recognized though. He found a small hill and hollowed out a cramped cave, sealing it off before finally falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that happened. Also, thank you for the support so far!


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: dysphoria, mention of poor medical state/possible death, general insecurity, accidental misgendering, weapons (not described in detail), yelling
> 
> I feel the need to clarify that  
> a) this is c!ranboo  
> b) I am only writing this because I heard Ranboo had said he was okay with interpretations of his character as nonbinary  
> c) if he at any point retracts that statement this fic will be edited to comply with that  
> d) this is not speculation about the character's gender or the actual person's gender, I just thought the idea was interesting
> 
> This is almost fluff, I need to step up my angst game

It had been days and Ranboo still didn’t know what to think. Fundy had explained that trans didn’t necessarily mean the person in question was a guy, or even a girl. Just that they were different than the way they were born. Fundy had been slightly confused at the question, but not upset.

“Why do you ask?”

“Oh, uh, nothing, no reason, just wondering.” Somehow, Ranboo wasn’t sure Fundy had believed the answer. To be fair, it wasn’t particularly believable. 

It was a lot to think about, and it seemed sort of unfair with everything else that was going on, but it wasn’t like Fundy hadn’t figured his gender out in the middle of a war. Was that what Ranboo was doing? He- he? she? Ranboo wasn’t sure. Something was off, but that was normal, wasn’t it?

More meetings passed, more meetings where they found nothing, more meetings with no response from El Rapids, more meetings where Fundy’s mental state grew increasingly distressed as it became less and less likely that Phil would ever wake up. It felt selfish to focus on something that was essentially inconsequential, but in a way it was an escape. 

Ranboo didn’t even understand the mental debate at this point, just sure that something was wrong. He- no, not he. What then? She? She didn’t know, no, that one’s wrong too. Ranboo didn’t know what, well, he’d stick with he for now because it’s easy, what he could be, but it wasn’t this. 

It was by a pure stroke of luck that Ranboo remembered something Eret had said once, that if he ever needed to talk, she would be there for him. He’d know, right? At least they knew more than Ranboo did. But then again, she might be busy, he might have only been saying that to make Ranboo feel better, who knew if they actually meant it- no. This isn’t working, just go talk to her.

So Ranboo started walking, not quickly and still unsure, but walking. Eret’s castle loomed in the distance, at this moment striking him as more imposing than welcoming. The stone gleamed impossibly in the sunlight, somehow nearly blinding him. The gate was open, it usually was, and the courtyard was empty. The throne room was barren, someone had stolen the throne again, and one of the torches appeared to have been replaced with a piece of granite. Ranboo wasn’t exactly sure how.

His footsteps echoed through the halls, the only thing breaking the silence. Too late, he realized that the castle had been abandoned for a long time, left alone for spiders and moss to crawl over and claim as their own. He turned to leave. He’d find Eret somewhere else. 

Unfortunately for Ranboo, he underestimated the labyrinthine qualities of the desolate palace, and promptly found himself lost. A few more wrong turns and he was in a room that hadn’t been touched since before he had joined the land. The war room. He hadn’t even known that there had been one of these, Dream had practically forbidden Eret from declaring any sort of political opinion (Not that he had listened), and who else’s room could it be?

The walls were lined with weapons, smiling icily down to Ranboo as he walked into the center of the room. There was a certain level of dust permeating the entire place, and everything was left in a state of disrepair, as if several people had left in a hurry and never came back. Or maybe he was reading too much into it.

Either way, it was starting to intimidate him, and he backed out, making a quick note of it in his book to investigate later. Eventually, he managed to navigate his way out of the castle and back into the sunlight. As blinding as it was, it was also welcome.

He backed away from the castle, figuring that Eret must have been somewhere else. He spent the next hour or two searching around for them, nearly giving up before finding her in the simple farm near L’manburg, waiting for crops to grow. He seemed tired but somehow triumphant, regal in the way they always were.

Ranboo approached her, trying to stay quiet to avoid startling him. It almost worked, but Eret was a trained veteran, jumping to their feet and whirling to face Ranboo before realizing who he was and relaxing. She laughed, half amusement and half anxiety.

“So, Ranboo, what brings you here?” Ranboo shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. They had always been welcoming, and for the most part he trusted her, but he was sometimes… unsettling.

“Um, it’s, you know what, it’s nothing really, I’ll just be going.” He started to back away, but Eret interrupted.

“No, no, you came here for a reason. What was it?” Their voice was confident, but not unkind.

“Well, I’ve been, um, thinking.”

“Okay, about what?”

“Well, you, uh, you know how Fundy’s trans?” Eret tilted his head, slightly confused.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, I, um, I might be? I don’t know. Everything feels… wrong? But I thought that was normal, so I’m not sure.” Eret nodded in understanding.

“Can you elaborate on that feeling of wrongness?”

“I… I don’t know. It feels normal in a way, it’s still sort of me, but it’s always been… off. I’m not really a guy, but I’m definitely not a girl either, so… I don’t know.”

“Well, I would say that, first of all, that does sound like dysphoria, at least to some extent, and secondly, you know that you don’t have to be either of those things, right?”

“I don’t?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Oh.” Ranboo paused to think. “Can I be that? Whatever that is.”

“Absolutely. Well, there are a lot of things that aren’t either, or you can just not take a label. Does nonbinary sound good to you?”

“Nonbinary…” Ranboo sounded the word out. “Yeah, yeah, I think I like it.”

“Well, I guess that works out then. Let’s see, what else? Pronouns, what pronouns do you want to use?”

“I don’t know, um, I don’t think he/him is really right, and I tried she/her earlier and that didn’t really work either?”

“Okay, well what about they/them?” Ranboo thought it out. _They_ thought it out. They were talking to Eret. Eret was helping them. They decided that they liked calling themself them. 

“Yeah, yeah I think those are good.”

“Great, and do you want a different name?”

“No, I… I think I’m fine there.”

“Okay, do you want to tell anyone else?” Ranboo was about to answer, but before the words could leave their mouth, they heard shouting from L’Manburg, impressively loud for the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I took so long updating, I'll try to be faster in the future.  
> I'll be back to Quackity next update, I swear.  
> Also once again if you have any issues with how I've portrayed Ranboo (or any of the characters) please let me know!


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: unhealthy binding, general self-hatred, injury, weapons, allusions to drunkenness, death, gore, blood, body horror, fire, flashbacks
> 
> This chapter is insanely long how did I write this much.

While a small, inexpertly hollowed out cave would not usually be considered luxury, Quackity was simply glad to be able to sleep again after his time in the Nether. He curled up around the cat, wings straining from their fraying bindings to reach out to her in comfort. She stretched in her sleep, mewing slightly and snuggling under Quackity’s jacket, still not accustomed to the relative cold of the Overworld.

They both slept for hours, needing it desperately. Quackity had never been one for taking much care of himself, but he had gotten somewhat used to sleeping for a normal amount of time in Dream’s stronghold, and the stint in the Nether had thrown everything off. It was fitful rest, but rest nonetheless.

Eventually, though, he had to wake up. It was already halfway through the day when he awoke, though with no particular enthusiasm. But he was on the run, and as much as he’d like to, he couldn’t stay where he was, especially with the painfully obvious nether portal nearby.

The cat meowed pitifully, staring at Quackity like she was demanding to be fed. She probably was. While Quackity really did appreciate the company, she was certainly a needy companion at times. Also, he was pretty sure she needed a name. That, or he's just keep calling her Cat, which, well, it worked well enough. Cat meowed again, and Quackity sighed fondly, fishing some pork out of his bag. It would probably be better to feed her something like fish, but for some reason, it had been in short supply in the Nether. Well. Did striders count as fish?

Probably not, and Cat didn't care. She snatched the piece of meat out of his hand, carrying it to a corner and eating it delicately, cleaning her paws after she finished. She stared at Quackity a little more before giving up and pushing at the side of the cave, probably trying to get out. Quackity slowly got up, grabbed his shoddily built warped wood pickaxe, and opened up the cave, letting the light in and Cat out. He didn't bother chasing after her, she always found her way back to him somehow. He wasn't entirely sure why or how, but it was probably magic. 

Quackity changed the barely surviving bandages for new ones, deciding that while he was away from everyone, he might as well save some supplies and keep his wings unbound, at least until he could find sheep's wool for more. He kept them under his jacket, of course, he wasn't about to let them out. Never again. 

He gathered the rest of his meager supplies, scrambling out of the cave and into the forest. It was already the middle of the day, and the sunlight would have been blinding in L'Manburg. But he wasn't in L'Manburg. He couldn't ever go back to L'Manburg, not ever again. He knew that now, he'd just have to make a place for himself. Maybe he'd visit Tommy. Tommy didn't hate him, right? 

Tommy was exiled too, but Tommy hadn't deserved it. Tommy would get to go back, right? Maybe. Tubbo wasn't really the most reasonable about any of this. Well, at least about the Tommy thing. Quackity was sure whatever punishment he would be handed if he ever decided to go back would be fair. Maybe he should go back, get it over with. He wasn't going to, but maybe he should. 

But, to be honest, he was too much a coward to even consider it, or at least that's what he told himself, ostensibly to make himself feel better. It didn't do shit, but he could stand there in the dappled sunlight and pretend that it did. Cat came back, rubbing against his leg and purring happily. She seemed to appreciate the space to run, her tail sticking straight up instead of moving in its usual nervous sweep.

He picked her up and started walking. The rest had been good, and much-needed, but he still wasn't really far enough away from everything. Frankly, there was no such thing as too far, and he'd probably have to settle underground for the rest of his life. He shuddered, remembering his brief stay in the cramped, probably cursed split in the earth that had been called Pogtopia. He determined to enjoy what little sunlight he had left. And to get some crops that weren't potatoes. He was still sick of potatoes, and he hadn't even lived in the ravine all that long. 

The forest gave way to a desert, arid, barren, and sweltering. Not as bad as the Nether, that was for sure, but still hot enough that he was tempted to take his jacket off, light as it was. He ignored the suggestion. Why did he even entertain it? He couldn't let his wings out, he knew that. Maybe the Nether had gotten to him more than he had thought it did. 

Some days he really did ache to spread his aching, bruised wings and fly, properly fly, not the weak fluttering they usually gave, but he had long since given up on any hope. They had always been too small to lift him, even if he wanted to take the time to take care of them instead of acknowledging them as the signs of weakness that they were. Besides, he didn't know how, no one had exactly been around to teach him how, and there was no instinct telling him how to on his own, only the desire to actually soar above everything else, wind whistling around him.

The heat was probably getting to him, and he was eternally grateful to have gotten out of the Nether as he wrapped a wet spare bandage around his forehead, a piece that had been slightly too small to use on his chest but could still have a purpose. He trudged through the sand, Cat occasionally jumping out of his arms to chase after a rabbit or a tumbleweed. She always returned. 

And then, he saw it, in the distance, partially buried by sand but there nonetheless. A pyramid, a familiar pyramid. As far as Quackity knew, no one really knew _why_ there were temples littered throughout various deserts, but they were still there and filled with treasure for the taking. Even if it didn't have anything good, it might at least have a well-made iron pickaxe, and that in and of itself made the detour worth it. He dropped down from the open top of the temple, only slightly injuring himself in the fall, and started to mine down to the bottom room. He didn't get out much, well, before this, that was, but he wasn't quite idiotic enough to jump down the middle. He didn't need to die a third time, everyone knew what that meant. He'd seen Schlatt die firsthand, and he wasn't eager to recreate that particular scene.

He got to the bottom, his pickaxe nearly destroyed, and made sure to destroy the stone plate in the middle of the small chamber. He quickly rifled through the chests, ignoring the rotten flesh and sand in favor of a solid iron pickaxe, a golden apple, and a few enchanted books. He wasn't entirely sure about taking them, but figured that they might be of some use at some point. As an afterthought, he grabbed the pouches of gunpowder. Just in case. 

He climbed back out of the temple, replacing everything to cover his tracks. Maybe he was being paranoid, but he had good reasons to be. More or less everyone who had ever met him was hunting him down, and he couldn't be too careful. He kept walking through the desert for a while, but the sky was darkening, and he hurried to find another place to hew out a cave, only finding a small, sandy hill. It wasn't ideal, definitely not the most subtle with the reinforcements he had to put in to keep sand off of him as he slept, but it would do. It was somehow more cramped than the last cave, if that was possible, but Quackity eventually managed to fall into a sleep of sorts.

Of course, that sleep wasn't what most people would call comforting, but what about Quackity's life could be called comforting? 

He was back in the old White house, sitting by, doing his job. Doing nothing. Nothing much was happening in Manburg, and Schlatt was out drinking (or something, Quackity wasn't really sure what he got up to most of the time, and frankly, he didn't care much) and probably wouldn't be back for a while, so Quackity took the opportunity to ease out of the tight suit jacket and button up, and into a T-shirt with an open back he'd cut with a random dagger for his wings to stretch. They still glimmered that old, lustrous gold, something he used to think was beautiful. Now, he realized the gold was false, a fake promise of flight, of power. 

He started to groom them, brushing down the feathers and spreading oil down them, making sure to maintain an even coating. They positively gleamed in the sunlight, reflecting golden shards throughout the room. And then he heard the door open, and he turned, but too late. 

And suddenly he was outside, a strung bow in his hands and the disgraces that were once called wings bound firmly to his back, staring down Schlatt. Who was probably drunk. Again. He knew he should probably just leave it alone and wait for him to sleep it off, but he couldn't. For whatever reason, this was the last straw. He raised the bow, nocked an arrow, and fired. 

And then he was further back in time, at the festival, watching in as Technoblade put a rocket launcher to a 16 year old's terrified face, watched as he fired, watched as the world exploded in sparks, felt every second of the blinding pain of his first death. 

Farther back, still, he was in Old L'Manburg, making a deal with Schlatt that he knew was terrible, knew would backfire, hurt him. He didn't care. He smiled through the indecision and self-hatred, smiled as he shook the swindler's hand, smiled as he announced his decision. Smiled as he won. 

Smiled as he lost. 

Quackity woke up. Cat was sitting on his chest, purring and kneading. Right on top of his injuries. He managed to avoid screaming in pain, but only barely, and twisted quickly, throwing Cat away from him. She sulked, and he felt bad about it, but it had hurt an impressive amount, and he was too tired to deal with pain this early in the morning. 

Actually, he didn't know how early it was, but the point still stood. He fed Cat some more pork, noting that they were starting to run low on food. He'd have to hunt some today if he didn't want to run out of food. Which he didn't. He rose faster than the day before, not wanting to waste bandages by changing them every day, and kept walking, about halfway through the day coming to the end of the desert, and finding a plain with about 6 or 7 cows he promptly killed for food and, quite helpfully, leather. 

He didn't have glass or iron to carry water in, so he quickly fashioned a small pouch out of the leather that would hopefully function as a sort of waterskin. He tested it out on a small stream he found, and it worked well enough for him to be satisfied. The rest of the leather went to fixing his worn shoes, which were definitely starting to look worse for wear. 

He didn't really have a great way of cooking the steak other than making a rudimentary fire with his flint and steel and hoping the smoke didn't attract anything to him, and at the end of it, the meat was technically cooked, and probably safe to eat, but no one would ever call Quackity a chef, and not just because if everything went well, he wouldn't ever talk to anyone again. 

Cat didn't care. Cat never cared. Cat just accepted whatever he gave her, without judgement, because she was a cat and he was the one with food and warmth. He did have to stop her from walking into the fire a good few times, but he didn't really mind. Cat eventually settled in his lap as he ate, purring comfortingly and snatching up any pieces of steak that dropped. Quackity almost gave up on the day and went to sleep right then and there, but there was plenty of light left and he needed to keep moving. Besides, he wasn't eager to revisit his memories. 

So, reluctantly, he stood up and kept walking, pushing on despite his legs aching in protest. Cat snuggled against his chest, apparently tired out. He let her, she deserved a rest. After all, she hadn't done anything wrong. Frankly, he felt sorry that something as innocent as her had to put up with the hideous disaster that he was, and he vowed to get better, if not for himself, for her. 

Eventually, he wandered into a dark oak forest and stopped being able to tell the difference between night and shadow, and decided that he might as well make himself a place to sleep, before monsters started spawning. So, he mined some of the wood from the surrounding trees, and built what was probably the shittiest shack in existence, but it would serve its purpose. He didn't even bother putting a door on the building - if it would really be called that - just stumbling inside and closing it off from the inside. He managed to fall asleep fairly quickly, given the events of the last night, and entered that dream world again. However, this time it was certainly... different. 

He was standing in a line of people, ranging from the youngest at 15 or 16 to the oldest at _maybe_ 24\. They were all wearing uniforms, something grey and loose on their frames, certainly not something that he recognized. A voice boomed from somewhere, he wasn't sure where, welcoming this year's fighters. It started talking some nonsense about codes and colors, and Quackity tuned it out, looking around. Most of the people he could see looked vaguely familiar, but not in a recognizable way. And then the voice said something about an arena, and suddenly everyone was walking, and then Quackity was too. 

What is this, some Hunger Games type shit? Quackity wasn't sure what the Hunger Games were, but they sounded like something he'd heard of. Maybe they were something Schlatt made up. 

And then, somehow, they were in the arena. Quackity's dreams never really made much sense. And then someone he used to know, it wasn't really important who, just that they were an old friend he'd fallen out of touch with, ran by him. And fucking disintegrated. Actually, disintegrated was putting it nicely. They more or less exploded, in a burst of blood and guts and, well, everything. And Quackity barely flinched. 

And then everyone started to die, to disintegrate, to explode, people he knew, used to know, used to care about. Tubbo, gone. Fundy, gone. Everyone in the entire room, the entire arena, gone. He fell, clutching his head. It was the war all over again, just death and blood and misery, and those deaths started to appear, too, until he was soaked in blood and guts and tears. 

And then, he was in a line again. And he still wasn't clean, and he was still on the ground, clutching his head. A hand grabbed his arm, hauling him up. When he looked at the owner of the hand, he found Schlatt sneering at him again. 

"Get up, Secretary." 

And Schlatt's sneer morphed into Dream's ruined smile, oozing the same purple-black goo as his chest, and Dream pulled him closer. 

"Get up, little bird." 

He ran, pushing past people in the line, only stopping when he was sure the Schlatt-Dream thing wasn't chasing him. And then he turned, and saw them. A purple hoodie and a white T-shirt, arms linked so tightly it was like their life depended on it. Karl and Sapnap. He ran to them, and they embraced him, warm and comforting, and he could ignore the blood and the dirt and the death because everything was _okay_. 

"I love you two." It was all he was able to say. 

And then he woke up. He was grasping at the air next to him so tightly his arms hurt when he moved them, and he had a sinking feeling in his gut that if he had stayed in the dream any longer, he would have had to watch both of them die. He missed them both so badly, but this was exactly why he couldn't go to them. Schlatt or Dream or _someone_ would find them and kill them and then where would he be? Lost. More than he already was. 

He stretched his arms in the small room, trying not to cry. He had things he needed to do, and have a mental breakdown because of a stupid dream was not one of them. He fed Cat, broke down the shelter, and started to keep walking. He was still shaky, but he couldn't just give up. Not now. 

After what felt like an eternity of trudging through the shadowy forest, a building rose in the distance and - oh no. He really didn't want to deal with this today, but if no one had found it yet, there might still be evokers in there. It probably wasn't worth it, but if he could get some Totems of Undying to Sapnap and Karl, maybe he could actually visit them. It wasn't a perfect solution by far, but he really missed them. Maybe his dream had been trying to tell him something. 

Maybe he should fight through the mansion. Sure, he wasn't prepared. Sure, he wasn't equipped well. But he had some leather, an iron pickaxe, some enchanted books, and... yeah he was probably fucked. Whatever, it's not like he had much to lose. He might as well be smart about it. He told Cat to wait with some of his spare stuff, and climbed a tree to get to one of the higher-up floors, where the evokers usually lived.

He didn't really have any weapons, so he cut up a vine and a stick to make a rudimentary slingshot, hoping the 25 or so stones he had would be enough. Then something occurred to him, and before using the slingshot, he made a ball of twigs and leaves, set it on fire, and tossed it into the mansion, somehow managing to not burn his fingers in the process.

The inside of the mansion lit up, showing several figures running around in panic. He pulled the slingshot back and let a rock fly at one of the shadows. It hit, not directly, but a hit. The evoker turned around frantically, looking for their attacker, but Quackity let another rock fly, and as the evoker came closer, he could see that it had landed directly in their eye. They were also very much on fire. Quackity somehow doubted that they were having a particularly good day, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. He launched toward the evoker, raising his pickaxe and striking it through their head, killing them. 

_Techno raised a pickaxe above his head as Quackity pleaded. The blade came down in a flash and Quackity died._

Quackity rifled through the evoker's pockets, finding a somewhat dusty Totem of Undying, but one nonetheless. He took a second to wonder why it hadn't worked for them, but he gave up on trying to apply logic to magic and thanked whoever made magic for deciding to let him have this, at least. Frankly, he deserved something at this point. Not to be selfish. 

Surprisingly, the 'shoot-evokers-with-a-slingshot' plan worked fairly well, and Quackity found himself running away from the mansion clutching 3 Totems. Unfortunately, a giant on-fire mansion is a great landmark, and if literally anyone decided to stop by, it would be extremely easy to figure out that someone was here. There wasn't much he could do about it, though, so he grabbed Cat and his supplies and ran. 

At this point, running felt like the only thing he knew how to do. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Neat. So I'm starting to realize that I really needed to plan better, and I will finish this, but the next project i'm going to work on is going to be properly planned out.


End file.
